


Fealty

by threeplusfire



Series: Bad Things Come In Threes [6]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Blood Magic, Body Horror, Fae & Fairies, Fae manipulation, M/M, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Urban Magic Yogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:04:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeplusfire/pseuds/threeplusfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirin tests Ross' loyalties to the Garbage Court.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fealty

**Author's Note:**

> This is a dark story but one I needed to write. My deepest, sincerest thanks to all the friends who offered comments, criticisms and help while I worked on this. None of this would come to pass without you.

Trott was cranky about the closure of the supplier he liked to use, necessitating dealing with Kirin. It was the last place in the city any of them wanted to be, short of the underground, but there wasn’t a single other place in town. Ross came along with him because none of them liked being on their own around the unsettling fae lord, and he was left to look around the shop while Trott bargained aggressively for the things he needed.

“I’ll send Ross then to pick it up when it’s ready,” Trott said. Ross looked up, biting back the words and swallowing his unease. They exchanged a glance and he knew there was some extra, unfathomed tension in the room between Kirin and Trott. It felt dark, darker than it should given the daylight. Ross just nodded. He would do this for Trott, without even being asked.

“It will be a couple weeks before the first ones are ready.” Kirin looked at him and Ross fought the urge to duck his head, look away. He forced himself to meet Kirin’s gaze steadily.

 

* * *

Many weeks later, Ross ducked into the shop in the early evening. He only came on days Kirin’s part time help wasn’t here, late in the day when the shop was closing. He would be glad when Trott and Smith lost interest in their little brewing project and he didn’t have to come here anymore, though. Not for the first time he wondered why the door wasn’t taller, given the size of Kirin. Especially given the antlers. Ross could see right through the glamour to the strangeness of him some days, and he wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that way.

He strode easily through the shop and into the greenhouse with its humid air. Ross was used to the pattern of their exchanges now - finding Kirin in the back tending to his plants, the very casual conversation. He would ask Ross about the day, the pulse of the city from his high vantage points. Usually it was easy and Kirin didn’t show much more than a polite sort of interest - impersonal, surface level stuff. It suited Ross just fine to keep it that way. Privately he was unhappy with Trott for sticking him with this chore.

Ross let his guard down slow. He was wary each time, always keeping some distance - or even plenty of table or counter between them. Out of range, just far enough. Only this time, he let himself get too comfortable.

Distractedly, he answered Kirin’s questions about the day and the rain, as he trailed his fingers over the silvery green leaves of a plant he’d never seen before. Ross didn’t realize how close he was until Kirin stood within arm’s reach. It took an act of will not to flinch away. Instead Ross backed up, sitting on the edge of the heavy wooden table as if he meant to do that. He curled his tail back around, trying not to knock anything over, and the barbed tip twitched behind his legs. He shied away from the magnetic hum of Kirin, the power so palpable he could taste it.

Kirin set the bag on the table beside him. But instead of stepping away, going through the usual motions of payment and receipt, he stepped in closer to violate Ross’ personal space.

“It is a crime, to take you from the city.”

Ross shrugged, trying to ease his shoulders down from where they'd crept up. "I'm a criminal."

"You were a guardian of the city." Kirin's voice was gentle, but Ross looked away, at the door that was so far out of his reach.

“I’m still in the city.” Ross tried to keep his voice unconcerned as he reluctantly looked back at Kirin. He had never spoken to him quite like this. Uneasily, Ross shifted on the table.

“But not the same. You could be, should be, a proper guardian again.”

Ross shook his head.

“There was nothing left for me to guard in that church. They abandoned it decades ago.” Ross looked away once more, wanting to add angrier words. _They abandoned me_ , he thought. His fingers dug into the table as he held back. Saying it aloud would be too much. Too painful and too revealing of the bright, sharp hurt still lodged inside him. Ross swallowed the lump in his throat.

“You had an oath, didn’t you?” Kirin pointed out calmly. “An oath you broke. _You abandoned your place_ _._ ”

Ross shook his head irritably, but the words hit their mark. He felt a little sick, acknowledging the truth in them. He did break his promise. Even if they had already broken it, had left him and left the magic to rust over the long years until his bond snapped at the slightest pressure. Ross sighed, the guilt heavy in his chest.

“Are you any less lost now, without it?” asked Kirin. He turned Ross’ face towards him gently. Ross couldn’t meet his eyes. “What purpose do you serve, haunting the alleys? What good does it do to look after stray dogs while your companions murder the actual human lives of the city? You were made to be a guardian, and what are you without that? What certainty can you have?”

When he opened his mouth to respond, Kirin cut him off again.

“You're wasted like this. Squandering your talents on people who don't know how much more you could be. You deserve greater things than this, Ross.”

Kirin moved in, standing between Ross’ parted knees. Ross leaned back, a little dazed by the onslaught of words and the sheer power of Kirin’s presence. He could feel it, nibbling at the edges of his very sense of self, waiting to swallow him whole. He felt dizzy from it, and put a hand up as if to ward Kirin away. His fingers tightened in the rough cotton of Kirin’s shirt.

“You were _made_ for greater things.”

Ross’ eyes glowed, a bright blue like sunlight through church windows. He both wanted and didn’t want to listen. It was hard to resist the torrential pull of Kirin, his words, his magic.

“Think of how well they would all sleep, with you watching over them. Standing guard at their windows. All the people in this city who need you. You keep an eye on Will, I know.” At that, Ross flinched. The last thing he especially wanted to discuss was his friendship with Will.

“How nice it would be if you could spend more time with him.” Kirin smiled. “It feels so good to be useful, doesn’t it.”

On the table, Ross shivered. He wanted to say something, but the words jammed in his throat. His eyes fluttered closed at the touch of Kirin’s fingers on the back of his neck. It was rare for anyone to make Ross feel small, but Kirin did. It wasn’t just his size though, even if he was rather more massive than Ross and equally tall. He was still as stone except for the nervous lashing of his tail. A touch on the inside of his knee made him jerk back, his legs parting wider. It was a mistake, he realized instantly. But Kirin was already taking advantage, moving in closer. He was even warmer than the air of the greenhouse. Ross’ tail was caught, pressed between his thigh and Kirin’s.

“Even in these circumstances, you know your true calling. You need something to protect, Ross. Someone who will recognize your service and honor your sacrifices.”

The hand on his neck slid around, and up the side of his face. It was hard to resist the urge to lean into it, to let Kirin cup his cheek even as he tried to shrink away from him. Ross’ breath caught, an ache in his chest like the burn of winter wind that he didn’t quite understand. Not quite fear and not quite excitement, it churned uneasily in him.

“Do you get on your knees for him?” Kirin asked with a smile, his fingers tracing Ross’ horns. He brushed Ross’ hair back from his forehead.

“None of your fucking business,” Ross growled, eyes still closed. He breathed carefully, slowly, trying to hide the way he wanted to gasp.

“Hmmm.”

He could feel Kirin’s tail twining itself around his ankle, like some climbing vine trying to move steadily higher. He wanted to slap it off. His tail swung back and forth until the tip grazed Kirin and he froze with dread, hoping that he hadn’t broken the skin. He could not afford to spill blood, not here and not with him.

“I could make it my business.” His hand was in Ross’ hair now, pulling his head back. “The city is my business after all, and all the things that happen in it.”

“You don’t own this place,” Ross said quietly, opening his eyes. “Not all of it.”

"But I do, Ross. The city is mine, and I am a worthy master." Kirin smiled at him, a forgiving smile. He cupped Ross’ face with both hands, pulling him up to his feet so they stood almost pressed chest to chest. Everywhere that Kirin touched burned, an electric spark that held him motionless. Ross made a low sound in the back of his throat, full of dread and desire at war.

“Your king with his paper crown,” he began. “Is he worth the chaos you bring to your city? Is he a worthy king for you to serve?”

Ross kept his mouth shut, trying not to let a sound escape him.

"You have so much to give, Ross. Are they grateful? Are they even aware?"

Kirin’s hands still held his face, thumbs on his cheek bones. At least the tail unwrapped itself from his leg. Ross was as still as he could make himself.

“You, of all the Garbage Court, you know what it means to serve. You know what it means to be faithful, to be loyal. Is your loyalty well rewarded there?” Kirin’s voice was honeyed, resonant. His eyes glowed with their own light, and Ross couldn’t look away from them.

“Ross, you can be so much more than you are right now. Think of what you could do, serving a true king who could see your gifts, your value.”

He shuddered at Kirin’s words, sweet and poisonous as antifreeze. Ross wanted to pull away, but he also wanted to keep listening. Kirin’s voice squeezed his bruised heart, touching on the aches in him that he kept unacknowledged and unvoiced. The attention was intoxicating, and he felt overwhelmed by being the sole focus of something so powerful as Kirin. At home, they jockeyed for the position closest to Sips. Ross’ devotion was a quieter thing than Smith’s brashness or Trott’s cleverness. He could never tell if it was enough.

“You don’t-” he began, trying to pull himself back. There wasn’t space enough to breathe between them. He felt Kirin’s hand cup the back of his head gently.

“But I do know,” Kirin continued. “I do know your worth, just how good you are.” His fingers combed gently through the hair at the nape of Ross’ neck. The warmth made him want to close his eyes, to let himself sink. Ross struggled to keep them open. A tremor ran through his legs.

“I could make you so much more.” The thought of it felt so disloyal, and he hated himself for even wanting it. But a king who would make demands of him, ask sacrifices, shape him for some finer purpose - the thought called to him.

The thump of his knees on the wooden floorboards brought him back to himself for a moment. He wondered just how he got there, but then Kirin’s hand was in his hair once more. The heat of the greenhouse, the warmth of Kirin, the constant shifting weight of the magic in the humid air all conspired to daze him. Ross looked up at Kirin, leaning into the reassuring touch. His thoughts latched onto some of the seductive words, _loyalty_ and _fealty_ and _belonging_ and _service_. As Kirin spoke, his hands stroked Ross’ head. Ross palmed himself through his jeans, listening to Kirin’s voice.

Before he could stop to consider what a terrible idea it was, Ross leaned forward to press his face into Kirin’s hip. The pleased sound above him encouraged him, and he rubbed his face against the front of Kirin’s trousers and over his growing hardness. He couldn’t stop himself once he started, despite the sense that this was reaching too far into the fire. Ross reached up for Kirin and stopped himself. His hands curled into fists at his sides and he struggled with the temptation to put them on Kirin’s cock.

“You look so beautiful like that,” Kirin said with delight. The praise intoxicated him and Ross raised a tentative hand to Kirin’s leg. He hovered, not quite sure.

“Go on,” Kirin encouraged, smiling down at him. Ross’ hand settled on his thigh and slid up, over his hip and the outline of Kirin’s arousal through the fabric. He was so cautious even with the permission. His fingers settled on Kirin’s hip and he mouthed Kirin through his trousers, breathing in the scent of magic and arousal. This was something he shouldn’t be doing, he thought, even as he took a deep breath. But the dim awareness was swept aside in the soothing tones of Kirin’s voice, the warmth of him distracting Ross from the unbearable ache in his chest. Kirin’s hand moved his head aside so he could unfasten his trousers.

The sound of the zipper startled him and Ross realized this was getting too far out of control. Before he could voice the protest on his lips, Kirin’s hand was stroking his face again and curving round the back of his head.

“You want this.”

Ross moaned very quietly, looking up. He tried to shake his head, tried to push past the combination of terror and arousal spiking up through him. Kirin held him, his hands so gentle and his gaze unwavering. Ross wanted to pull away, wanted to get up and run yet couldn’t make himself do it, still too eager to lean forward into Kirin’s grasp.

“You were made to serve, Ross.” Kirin’s thumb brushed over his parted lips, as Ross struggled to find his breath and his voice. “Don’t fight what you are.”

This time Ross shuddered from his head to his tail, the words cutting through him. He wanted, more than he knew he should or was safe. He wanted to obey. The promise of a king who would ask of him more than he was willing to give, a cause to serve, a tangible ache that _meant something_. He pushed his face into Kirin’s hip, eyes shut tightly and burning. He just wanted, and the wanting tugged so strongly at him.

Kirin’s fingers were on his face again, opening his mouth and pulling his head back. The chance to speak was lost as Kirin slowly pushed his cock into Ross’ mouth, fingers curled under his jaw and holding him so very still. Ross thought about how useless it would be to fight this, and how much a part of him didn’t want to fight it at all.

When he tentatively pressed his tongue flat to the underside of Kirin’s cock, he was rewarded with an encouraging murmur.

“That’s it,” hummed Kirin. "I knew you could." His voice was warm with pride, and Ross made an urgent noise, taking him in deeper. Ross swung his tail behind him, trying to shake out the restless fear still in him underneath the heavy warmth of Kirin’s presence and his own desire. His knees slid a little further apart to steady himself.

It was so easy to give himself up like this. The pleasure of obeying drowned out the other feelings and Ross bent his neck eagerly to the task of pleasing Kirin. His hands skimmed up Kirin’s thighs. One hand tugged Kirin’s trousers further down and the other wrapped around the base of his cock. Each little groan from Kirin made him want more, and Ross delighted in every response to his movements, the twitch and moan when he flicked his tongue over the head of Kirin’s cock or the pulse of blood under his skin. The thrill of it made him dizzy. Ross’ stomach twisted with nervous excitement, sharp and uncomfortable. His hands shook the tiniest bit as he tugged Kirin’s trousers out of the way. Each time he bobbed his head forward he took more of him into his mouth until Ross’ nose was almost brushing Kirin’s stomach. His jaw ached but Ross didn’t stop, yearning for Kirin’s praise.

“This is where you belong, on your knees for your king,” Kirin crooned to him, a bit breathless and utterly delighted. Ross made a startled, unhappy sound at that. His gaze shot up to Kirin’s face and Ross tried to stop. Kirin’s hand was on the back of his head again, a gentle pressure as he fucked Ross’ mouth in steady, slow thrusts. He grinned down at Ross, lips parted to show a hint of his teeth so very white and sharp. Ross felt Kirin’s tail again, tangling around his arm this time. He would not let Ross pull away. They were past the point of choice.

"You're so _good_ , Ross. You can be so good," panted Kirin, voice tight, twisting his hand in Ross' hair as he pushed into his mouth a final time. "Be good for me." Ross whimpered, the ache spreading from his jaw down to his chest.  

Kirin gripped his shoulder with one hand as he leaned forward, mouth open in a soft cry of satisfaction as he climaxed. Ross choked, unwilling to swallow. He let Kirin’s come drip down his chin, not caring how it looked as he jerked his head back. Kirin looked both amused and exasperated. He carded his fingers through Ross’ hair. Ross was not about to swallow for him. This was too much to ask, and too dangerous with all the magic in the air. Ross inhaled sharply, trying to catch his breath. Bad enough that he could taste him in the back of his throat, sharp and strong.

“A lifetime serving a true king,” Kirin promised in a satisfied voice, breath slowing to a calmer pace. “You are wasted where you are.” Kirin drew back, tipped his chin up and looked him in the eye. The glamour on him flickered and Ross caught a glimpse of his antlers.

“You know what you have to do.”

Ross’ lips tightened. Everything in him ached, his frustrated arousal, his shame, his anger, his uncertainty and doubt. He wanted Kirin to touch him, he wanted his praise, he wanted release from the heat coiled in his gut. Ross made a strangled sound of need and frustration, turning his face to one side. He spat, trying to get the last of Kirin out of his mouth, expression furious as he stared at the floor. Ross heard the soft hiss of Kirin’s zipper going back up.

Kirin pulled away, and the warmth went with him. Ross felt heavier, colder than before he came into the greenhouse. Painfully conscious of his existence as something not quite flesh and blood. He was so tired, the weight of things more onerous on him now. Before he’d left the church, he had no idea what it meant to carry your own choices. His voice felt harsh in his throat, clumsy as the first lines in stone. He wiped at his face with one hand, trying to remove all the sticky traces of Kirin from his skin.

“I’m sorry. I won’t.” He won’t. Ross won’t even lie and say he can’t. He could in theory, but he won’t. Not just because the pull of Smith’s magic was still there, under the swirling noise of Kirin’s. He made a vow when he took Smith’s blood. But even beyond that, he loved them too much to give them up.

“When you’re ready, then.” Kirin’s  voice sounded so disappointed and Ross flinched to hear it.

Kirin looked at him for a moment, silent and judging. Ross felt the weight of every year of his unnatural life. Then he turned away.

Ross picked himself up off the floor, left the payment exact on the table, then slipped out the door as quickly as he could to walk home in the twilight. He hunched his shoulders, a little angry and furious and sick. He didn’t go home straight away, too flustered and full of roiling thoughts. Walking the streets, Ross ignored the beep of the phone in his pocket. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He didn’t even want to tell Trott he was fine, he left Kirin’s an hour ago. He wasn’t sure he was fine, and he didn’t want to think too hard about it.

Instead he roamed the city, radiating danger and frustration. Even the dogs left him alone. He almost hoped he would find someone or something to take his rage out on, but the early evening held quiet. He pulled off his shoes and climbed as high as he could, gouging out hand and footholds in the soft concrete on the side of an office tower. The wind up high smelled like the river and made him think of home. Needing something to take the lingering taste out of his mouth, he’d stopped at one of the all-night convenience stores, picking out the most luridly colored and artificially flavored drink in the case. It didn’t taste like anything real, all chemicals and sweetness and bubbles. But it helped some.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was late when he opened the door to the condo. He hesitated in the doorway. But he yearned for the warmth of the stove, the sight of Sips wearing that ridiculous frilly apron over a pair of boxers patterned with little hearts, making omelettes at 11pm in their cluttered kitchen. Smith stood at the counter near him, cutting cheese into small chunks and singing some terrible made-up song with Trott. He ached a bit, feeling how terribly he loved this strange little family, and how shamed he was by his own doubts.

“Where have you been?” Trott asked him in a singsong voice. But his dark eyes were watchful, concerned. He moved closer, smelling more than a mere trace of Kirin on him, and wondering about the hurt in his eyes. Ross just shook his head minutely and carefully set the package on the counter. Trott took his hand and kissed it.

“You’re in time for a late supper anyway.” He pulled Ross close, slipping an arm around his waist. He could feel something was wrong.

“What do you want in yours, Ross?” Sips called over his shoulder as he flipped the eggs in the pan to fold neatly in half. “Smiffy’s eating all the cheese, but there’s some bacon and…”

“Fuck off Sips, I am not.” Smith popped another slice of cheese in his mouth with a grin.

Ross smiled as they bickered, and caught Trott watching him.

“I’m alright,” he said, very softly so only Trott could hear. He scuffed one bare foot on the floor.

“Are you sure?”

“He thinks he can make me go back,” Ross said without bothering to conceal the bitterness. “Offered me a place with him. Said I should serve a _real_ king.”

Trott snorted inelegantly but didn’t say anything.

“Wants me to…” Ross paused. “Well. You know what it would mean.”

“Smith wouldn’t like that one bit,” Trott observed. They both watched as Sips laid bacon down in the pan, menacing Smith with his spatula. Smith tried to steal food right out of the pan, laughing.

“All the years I was in the church,” Ross began. His tail, twitching anxiously, instead curled around Trott’s leg seeking reassurance. He swallowed and started over.

“All the years I was in the church, alone… I never saw him.” Ross looked down, thinking. He tapped his fingers on the counter. “Smith was the first person to ever really look at me, to _see_ me.”

Trott was silent, listening. Ross very rarely spoke about his life before them. They knew next to nothing, except that Ross hated birds and the rain and that none of the church’s other gargoyles were ever awake or alive. But what he’d experienced or what his life was like, they could only guess at. Trott suspected it had been painfully lonely for someone like Ross, who thrived on companionship.

“If he… why didn’t he ever come there before?”

“Fuck him,” Trott said succinctly. “No one owns you, Smith’s blood magic dabbling notwithstanding.”

“What about me?” Smith looked over from where he had an arm around Sips’ shoulders.

“Are you eating everything before it even gets to a plate? For fuck’s sake Smith.” Trott flipped his fingers impatiently at him.

“There’s plenty of food, hold your horses.” Sips shook the pan, not catching Smith’s indignant look. Trott chuckled and glanced back up at Ross. He was watching Sips and Smith, a familiar fond smile on his face.

“I’ll go with you next time. No more whispering in your ear. He can say it right in front of me.”

Ross shook his head.

“We should find some other supplier. It isn’t worth it.”

“I’ll do some looking,” Trott sighed. He looked at Ross carefully, wondering what exactly had happened that left such a stink of magic and despair on him.

Sips called to them to hurry before the food vanished or grew cold. They ate standing up in the kitchen, holding their plates and laughing, companionable and warm. Smith pulled beers out of the fridge for them, and poached bites of food off everyone else’s plates.

Ross helped clean up, filling the sink with dishes while Sips sat on the counter and talked to him. Trott pulled Smith aside, speaking in a low urgent voice. Smith’s eyes turned dark as he listened, a stormy seawater color. Trott put a hand on his arm in warning. They would find some way to get back at the fae lord for this, for even thinking about trying to take their gargoyle away from them.

 

* * *

Ross curled on the floor beside Sips’ legs, and for a change Smith came to drape himself on one side with Trott on the other. Sips was amused to have them all sitting at his feet, cracking jokes about finally feeling like a real king with his own harem. When he demanded a blow job, they immediately volunteered Ross. He made faces at Trott but acquiesced, because when would he ever turn down the chance to get some one-on-one attention like that from their king.

“You and Smiffy make out now,” Sips grinned. Trott rolled his eyes but laughed and climbed across Ross to reach his other companion. Smith kept a hand on Ross’ back, petting him as he kissed Trott.

Trott caught his eye, and they both looked at Ross, his head resting in Sips’ lap. Trott pulled him back by the hair,  prompting an annoyed comment from Sips.

“Aww Trott, why are you interrupting?”

“Maybe you’d like it better if you had a show first?” Trott said in that low, dangerous voice of his. He tightened his fingers in Ross’ hair, pulling his head up. Ross shivered, the memory of Kirin’s hand doing the same up flickering in his thoughts.

“Yeah, sure.” Sips raised his eyebrows. “Better be good though.”

Trott licked the line of Ross’ throat, eyes still on Sips. He felt Smith beside him, hands on the both of them now. Ross leaned heavily into them, taking comfort in their hands and the familiarity.

They pulled Ross back, shoving the coffee table out of the way to clear more room on the floor in front of Sips’ favorite armchair. Sips thought they deserved some nice furniture for a change, but the hell if he was actually going to go buy any of it. He was not above getting Smith to help him steal it though, if the opportunity arose. They lifted the chair off the back of a moving truck not long after they bought the condo with their bank heist funds.

“I hope you guys have lube,” Sips commented as he settled himself more comfortably. The other three all reached for their pockets at the same moment, and he laughed to see them all pull out the same single use packets.

“They send them free with the restock orders,” Trott said, a bit defensively. Ross just shrugged, and Smith raised an eyebrow with a smirk.

“You guys are fucking perverts.”

“Says the man who wanted a show.”

“The king is allowed to be a pervert.” Sips tilted his head. “I think that’s probably a job requirement.”

“This is where you belong,” Smith murmured in Ross’ ear. “With me. With us.” Ross couldn’t find words so he just kissed Smith’s shoulder, arms around him. He felt the blood-hot pull of the bond between them, usually just a background hum, but louder now so close to Smith’s beating heart.

“I know,” he replied, wondering what Trott must have said. He didn’t want to tell them the entire story. Ross was still too angry with himself. Plus, he knew their chaotic tempers would only goad them into a rash, dangerous decision. Better to wait, figure out what to do about Kirin. He thumped the floor with his tail, not noticing he was doing it.

“Ross, this fucking tail,” Trott laughed, interrupting his thoughts. Ross swatted at him, not hard enough to really hurt. Trott grabbed his tail, pulling it around his waist and running his hands over the smooth glass, counting the ridges down from Ross’ back to the very tip. Ross warmed quickly under his touch, making pleased little sounds as he pulled Trott closer to him.

They were both kissing him then, sharp teeth and not-quite-gentle mouths and hands pulling off his hoodie and his shirt. Sips clapped, amused and appreciative. Incapable of blushing, Ross hid his face in the curve of Smith’s neck to conceal his pleased smile.

“You guys have way too many fucking clothes on,” Sips commented from his chair. He lifted one leg over the arm, stretching his boxers tight across his obvious arousal.

“Yeah?” Smith grinned, all menace and charm. “What do you want me to do about it, then?”

“Nothing, you should let Ross do it.”

Ross was already unbuttoning his shirt, pushing it off Smith’s shoulders so he could press his mouth to the skin beneath. Smith rubbed his face against Ross’ hair, reaching over his shoulder to tug at Trott’s t-shirt.

“Why are your jeans so fucking tight?” Trott cursed under his breath as he unfastened the buttons of Ross’ jeans and tried to slide them down.

“You’re the one who makes me wear them,” Ross shot back, his breath unsteady from Smith’s hands on his zipper. He dragged his teeth along Smith’s shoulder. “I can stop.”

“Shut up Ross. Smith, shut him up.”

“Shut up Ross,” Smith laughed breathily in his ear. He stroked Ross’ cock, fingers slipping over the ridges with familiar ease. He had to let go to help wrestle the jeans off, Trott cursing the entire time and Ross trying not laugh in his face.

“Fuck, we’re just going to keep you naked in future, if it’s always going to take that much work.” Trott stood up and unbuckled his belt, slipping his trousers and boxers off with considerably less effort. He watched Smith rip his jeans off with his usual eager haste. From his chair, Sips watched them with his eyes half closed, his foot swinging aimlessly in the air.

Smith caught Ross in his arms and resumed kissing him, fingers splayed out across his lower back. He smiled against Ross’ mouth, listening to the noises he made.

“Bring him over here,” Trott called to Smith. He swept everything off the coffee table with a crash and sat down on it. Sips shifted in his chair. Trott pulled Ross down between his legs so they were almost eye to eye. Behind him, Smith nipped at his shoulders and pressed in close to rub himself against Ross.

“Be loud for us,” Trott whispered in Ross’ ear. “Everyone likes that.” He slid his hands over Ross’ chest. Behind him, Smith reached around to squeeze his cock again.

“God,” Ross moaned. “Don’t stop doing that.”

Trott kissed his neck again, his tongue following the smooth lines of Ross’ throat. He liked how different Ross tasted, dry and mineral compared to the iodine flavor of Smith or the salt and copper tang of Sips.

Ross whimpered when Smith’s hand moved away. But then wet fingers were spreading him open and he leaned forward against Trott, pushing him down onto his back over the table. They frotted against each other as Smith slid his fingers inside Ross, one at a time. The pleasure of it steadily drove Ross out of his mind, a welcome respite from his own thoughts. His torrent of blasphemous profanity made Trott laugh soundlessly. The coffee table creaked ominously under their weight, and he shoved Ross back up so he could stand.

“Ross, look at me.” Trott pushed the table even further back with one foot. Something glinted in the trash from the table top, and he picked it up carefully. He raised an eyebrow at Smith, who bit his lip and nodded as he removed his fingers from Ross.

“Before I let Smith fuck the self-awareness out of you…” Ross moaned, leaning back into Smith. Trott opened a shallow cut just inside his elbow with the knife he’d left laying out who-knows-when, blood dripping red into the crook of his arm. Ross’ eyes gleamed, a brighter blue that made Trott think of summer and sunlight.

As gently as he could, Ross put his mouth on Trott’s arm. The sound of Trott’s voice faded into the dull white noise that came with the swallow of blood and the whispered words. It burned going down. The magic soothed him, a familiar and comforting thing that coiled around his heart and settled in him. They saw him. They knew him. They wanted him. Ross took the vow without hesitating, without any doubt at all. They were his family.

“He’ll have to get past both of us to try to take you,” Trott hissed as he pressed his arm to stop the seeping blood. With his other hand, he gently stroked Ross’ face. Ross caught his hand and held it tightly. Behind him Smith kissed the back of his neck, his arms wrapped around Ross’ waist.

“Guys-”

“Sips, we’re having a _moment,_ ” Smith growled with gritted teeth.

“Well have a sexier moment before I lose my erection.”

Ross snorted and looked sideways at Sips.

“Fine,” Trott said and pointed at his cock. “Get to it Ross, your king requires your performance. Smith, fuck him until he can’t talk.” A little smiled hovered on his lips. Ross arched his back as Smith bent him forward again.

Tossing his head back, Smith caught sight of Sips with his cock in one hand and grinned. Sweat dampened his hair, sticking it to his forehead. Smith’s hands gripped his shoulder and hip as he fucked Ross on his knees, relishing the urgent cries he made with each thrust. They were muffled as Trott fucked his mouth. His tail swished over the floor, the barbed tip ripping at the carpet.

“Do him harder,” demanded Sips. Smith grasped Ross’ hips and increased his pace, grunting with the effort. He knew he’d have bruises from crashing into Ross like that but it felt amazing. Ross jerked his head away and moaned, loud and wordless. Trott held him up, preventing him from falling forwards.

“Don’t stop now,” Trott panted. He felt Ross shake from the force of Smith’s thrusts.

“So fucking good Ross, come on.” Trott’s hands guided him back to his cock and he echoed Ross’ moan with one of his own.

Ross’ fingers gripped his hips hard enough to mark him. He took Trott’s cock as deep as he could, his breathing fast and shallow. Under his hands and mouth Ross felt Trott shiver. His breath hitched each time Ross grazed him with his teeth. Trott gasped his name over and over as he came, and Ross closed his eyes in pleasure. The taste of come mixed with blood in his mouth and he swallowed the last bit of magic down along with it. Ross didn’t let go until Trott hissed and tugged on his hair.

Smith’s hand on his cock made Ross moan again and he rocked forward into the strokes. Smith closed his eyes as he felt Ross tense beneath him, the shuddering prelude to his climax. Listening to Trott’s encouragements and Ross’ shouts, he felt himself sliding over the edge and his thrusts growing erratic. Smith’s hand slipped on Ross’ cock, slick with sweat and the last traces of lube. The ridges pressed into his palm and Smith’s voice joined Ross’ as he came. Trott held Ross’ head against his stomach, one hand sliding down his back. Ross sagged between them, even his tail relaxing.

“Up you go, sunshine.” Trott and Smith took Ross by his arms, and manhandled him between Sips’ legs. He blinked, still a bit dazed and blissfully out of his mind.

“Come here, Ross,” Sips said, beckoning with one hand. He sighed in satisfaction as he watched Ross’ lips close over the head of his cock. “There you go.”

Smith and Trott held him up from either side to keep him from collapsing into Sips’ lap. Ross put all his concentration into sliding his tongue around the head of Sips’ cock. His fingers circled round, following his lips. Sips groaned encouragements, his hips pushing up to the warm pressure of Ross’ mouth. It didn’t take much, not after watching that show.

“Fuck _yes_ , Ross, fuck.” Sips kept one hand on the back of Ross’ neck and the other gripped the arm of the chair, white knuckled with pleasure and release. Ross swallowed, grateful for how human and bitter he tasted. He felt Sips soften in his mouth and he let him go, resting his head on Sips’ thigh with a happy little sigh. Three different hands stroked his hair and Ross closed his eyes, completely content. At least, until Sips complained about how heavy he was on his lap and Smith hauled him back down to sit on the floor.

“Alright Trott, that was a really good idea.” Sips rolled his head from side to side as he tucked himself back into his boxers.

“How come Trott gets all the credit?” Smith grumbled. He pulled Ross’ arm around his waist, letting him rest heavy and quiet against his chest.

“It was my idea.” Effortlessly, Trott rose to his feet. He looked down at Smith and Ross, eyes dark and unreadable. Dried blood smeared the inside of his arm.

“Yeah, but I put all the effort into fucking Ross senseless, mate.”

“Are you complaining?” Trott snorted.

“No I’m just-”

“Shut up Smiffy,” Sips said. He stood up and stretched his arms over his head, popping his spine. “I need another beer after that, phew.” Trott ambled after him to the kitchen, still naked.

“Ross,” Smith mumbled.

“What?” Talking required a lot of effort in his pleasantly exhausted state.

“Nothing. You’re warm.” Smith pressed his lips to the top of Ross’ head. Ross hummed a contented little sound, and settled himself so he could rest a leg on top of Smith.

Sips and Trott returned, Trott with an armful of beers he passed to Smith. Ross curled his tail up lazily so Smith could use it to pop the caps off the bottles. Trott dragged his skin off the back of the sofa, brushing off some stray popcorn. Smith watched him, trying not to smile. Trott caught his glance and shook a warning finger. He took one of the beers back and sat beside Smith so Ross was between them. He noted with some amusement that Ross’ tail slipped back around him almost immediately. Sips looked down at them and chuckled.

“You should really keep up the naked thing, I like it.”

Trott rolled his eyes and draped his skin across the three of them. Smith just butted his head against Sips’ leg as he stepped over them to sit back down. He looked rather decadent in his boxers and baseball cap sprawled in his arm chair above them. The embroidered crown gleamed golden in the lamplight.

“You want to watch a movie?” Sips punched the remote buttons, flipping channels.

“Yeah,” Trott said quietly. The cut in his arm stung, and he pressed the cold bottle against it.  He leaned into Smith and Ross, watching him stroke Ross’ hair. Ross’ eyes were barely open, glowing faintly still. “Let’s do that.”


End file.
